You were so beautiful to me. We walked in the clouds. We discovered so much together—about ourselves, about the world. Everything was magic and rainbows.
But you withdrew. In hindsight, I had sensed a distance growing between us.
Still, you promised you would change; that we'd be back to the way things were, and everything would be better.
And I believed you. I stood by and supported you through the rehab. I dared dream of another serendipitous future.
But there were new problems. Stacks of them. Yet I kept coming back, again and again, despite all the little ways in which you continued to disrespect me. Until one day I you gave me that about:blank stare for the last time.
I awoke… finally. I could see I was only staying because of the way things had been, because of the memory of the way things used to be, because of the thousands of ways in which you had changed how I think and who I am.
But in no way did you love me in equal measure. I see that now.
And so I'm leaving you, for I love myself too much to keep doing this. There's this other service I met at some blog over a year ago. It cares. It cares about me. It listens when I ask it to change.
It is probably true that I wouldn't be leaving if I didn't have some place to take my stuff. You can reach me here, and a mutual friend will be in touch about my things going forward.
I wish you the best of luck and hope that you find a happy future.
[Postscript: As Isabel said to Ebenezer Scrooge, "I release you with a full heart, for the love of who you once were. May you be happy in the life you have chosen." ]